Of Guilt and Love
by singukusa
Summary: AU since HBP. on hold indefintely Harry sinks deeper into his own guilt after the Department of Mysteries with the help of a lost technique resurrected by Voldemort to break him. Who can bring him back?


**Of Guilt and Love**

—eladnarra

Chapter One: Dream the First

_The darkness was heavy, tangible, deeper than the blackest of moonless nights. It surrounded Harry, smothered him like a velvet wizard's cloak. It pressed on him from all sides, cutting off his sight, dampening his hearing. The lack of light was so complete that Harry, confused as he was, had trouble believing his eyes were already open._

_Cold, damp stone pressed up against his back, grating uncomfortably through his flimsy robes. The entire room was bitterly cold, and as a freezing draft began to blow, Harry shivered. Spasms rocked through his body uncontrollably, beginning near his feet and travelling up to his hands pinned above his head on the wall. Metallic clinking reached his ears as he became painfully aware of the manacles gripping his wrists tightly, the cold burning into his flesh. _

'_This has to be a dream,' he told himself frantically, even as his instincts rebelled and his senses told him otherwise. This was too vivid for a dream; his scar didn't twinge horribly as it would if it was a vision born from his connection with Voldemort. It was real._

_Suddenly torches flared up in bright flickering flames. Blinking furiously, Harry stared around the chamber. It was simply a square box. There were no windows in the walls of roughly hewn stone; the only opening was a pointed arch opposite him, flanked by the two torches. A black and tattered curtain hung in the archway, fluttering gently as the icy breeze blew through it. Harry froze, nearly forgetting to breathe in his panic._

_It was the veil from the Department of Mysteries. _

_Consciously drawing in ragged breaths, Harry forced himself to stay calm. He closed his eyes, blocking out the agonizing sight. 'It must be a dream. A nightmare. There's no way…. I don't even remember…. It can't be—'_

"_Real?"_

_Starting in surprise, Harry's eyes flew open at the sound of such a familiar voice. "S— Sirius!"_

_A smirk never seen before by Harry flitted across Sirius' face as he stepped through the veil, letting the black shroud fall lightly behind him. _

"_But how…?" A steely glare silenced him as he grew even more bewildered. Was this really Sirius?_

"_I think you know how." The harsh tone cut through Harry, splitting him open for all to see as his brilliant green eyes glowed with unshed tears. "After all, it is because of you that I fell."_

"_But— but Sirius! Please!" His voice broke, not because of the accusation, rather because, in his aching heart, he knew it to be true._

"_Always playing the little hero, aren't you? Ever the righteous one. You couldn't even contemplate the thought that Hermione might be correct, that You-Know-Who was playing you like a violin. For that's all you are: an instrument of the darkest wizard ever known!"_

_Hot rivulets of salty water flowed down his cheeks unbidden as he listened to the proclamation. It was his entire fault; he was the one to blame. How many had died by his hands? His parents, Cedric, Sirius… And how many more would die because of him?_

_Sirius laughed, bringing Harry back to the present. "You'll never get the blood off of you hands," he whispered spitefully. "It may wash away with water, but it'll always be there." With that, he stepped backwards through the black curtain and disappeared. _

"_Sirius!" Harry sobbed shamelessly, the hurt from his godfather's words overwhelming him in a tsunami of fear and helplessness._

_It was only when, unexpectedly, he felt a drip of something hit his forehead, right above his scar, that his sobs started to lessen in intensity. Twisting oddly he turned so he could look upwards towards his shackled hands. They were covered in blood, the deep red fluid coursing down his pale arms…_

* * *

"Ahhhhhhh!" Harry's eyes snapped open and he found himself in his bed, safely within the wards of Number 4, Privet Drive. He gasped for air, searching anxiously for any sign of the stone room or the archway. There was none to be found.

Becoming calmer, he berated himself for falling trap to a nightmare.

'_And yet it felt so real, didn't it?' _asked a small voice in his head.

"It wasn't real." He said it aloud, his voice sounding oddly gruff in the nighttime silence. Unconsciously he lifted his hand to run a finger along his lightning-shaped scar. His finger smeared something wet on his forehead.

Shakily he brought his hand down and reached over to turn on the lamp. The light blinded him, temporarily blotting out the scene of his room. Slowly he brought his gaze back to his hands where they lay in his lap. They were slick with blood.

* * *

Miles away a tall man sat in a chair by a roaring fire, the long fingers of one of his bony hands caressing the jaw of a giant snake. He stared unfocusedly into the blazing flames, his slitted, red eyes dancing with their reflection, glazed in concentration. After a few more strained moments Voldemort broke contact and turned to face the man in front of him.

"Ah yesss, my unwilling servant. How doesss life treat you? Not very well it seemsss."

He received no response from the stiffly standing person before him. The man remained completely still, only awaiting the commands of his master. Anything else washed over him like murmuring background noise; in his state he had no need for comprehending anything but orders.

"Well now, how am I to converssse? Tell me: 'Life treats me well asss long asss I am in your service, for it is the greatest honour for me to do your bidding.'"

The man blinked slowly and complied dully, his monotone voice sounding hollow, sounding dead. "Life treats me well as long as I am in your service, for it is the greatest honour for me to do your bidding."

A cold, inhuman cackle filled the room, spiralling up in a harsh crescendo that would chill anyone in their right mind to the bone. Of course, the man did not so much as flinch. "Yesss, I could get used to thisss. To think I would ever have a creature asss delightfully terrible asss you 'under my spell,' so to speak." The Dark Lord returned to staring into the fireplace, his eyes alight with manic power and his thin lips drawn into a frightful grin. "For it isss you I have to thank for thisss new plan of mine. If it weren't for you I wouldn't know hisss weaknessesss. I wouldn't know how bessst to go about breaking him. Oh, if only I could see you realize that, through your weak-mindednesss, you have betrayed them all." He paused. "Tell me Potter'sss weaknessesss again."

"His guilt. His love."

"And tell me who he lovesss and who love him."

"His parents. His friends. Sirius. Dumbledore. Me—"

"Very good. Now finally, tell me who Potter will think lovesss him when I am through with him?"

"No one."

* * *

**A/N:** I wrote this a while back. It actually does have a plot to it, be it a very simple and undeveloped one. I may actually write more.  



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